


Heavenly

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Book shop owner!Cas, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, Minor Misunderstandings, Non-Penetrative Sex, Slow Burn, Snowglobe story, Switching, idiots to lovers, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: Dean’s head is on his shoulder, the hair tickling his cheekbone as he hums softly. From those noises, Castiel gleans he’s not far from trying to snuggle up. Which generally isn’t a problem, were it not for their current company and whereabouts. The Roadhouse is a public place and both their brothers are sitting at the same table. Which is what you get when you somehow land yourself in a friends with benefits arrangement with your best friend. At the stellar age of forty-three, no less.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 67
Kudos: 199





	1. Wanting Your Love To Come Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> A simple Friends with Benefits thing I wrote for the Trope Collection. Its last chapter is in the works and I'll be posting on a weekly basis, counting as of today. Inspiring song is [Heavenly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1QCL9AGbO0) by Cigarettes After Sex, because it's so good and it does things to my heart.
> 
> Basically Dean and Cas being idiots in love and lots of fluff. Beta'd by [xLailanix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLailanix/profile)
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> I'd love to hear from you in the comments in these trying times. My brain is mush.
> 
> Love,  
> Mal

Dean’s head is on his shoulder, the hair tickling his cheekbone as he hums softly. From those noises, Castiel gleans he’s not far from trying to snuggle up. Which generally isn’t a problem, were it not for their current company and whereabouts. The Roadhouse is a public place and both their brothers are sitting at the same table. Which is what you get when you somehow land yourself in a friends with benefits arrangement with your best friend. At the stellar age of forty-three, no less.

He purses his lips, scribbling down the last words to a poem that’s been echoing against the insides of his skull this past week and tucks the coaster in his coat. Sliding the nearly empty bottle of Jack out of reach, he gently nudges Dean to sit up. A cute grumble follows, as Dean burrows into his neck, sending a jolt of delicious tingles fanning out from the point of contact which is giving him ideas.

He all but jumps to his feet, jostling Dean out of his drunken cuddling. His forehead wrinkles, when he blinks owlishly up at him, eyebrows pleading for his closeness. It’s ridiculous. Dean’s all too adorable in ways no man his age and size has any business being.

“Hell, Cassie, what bit you?” Gabe asks.

“Nothing, but.. I, uh... Maybe it’s time to take home Mr. I Think I Can Still Handle A Bottle Per Night At 35.”

Sam prods his brother’s ear, who’s way too slow in batting the intrusive hand away with an annoyed grunt. He reaches for Castiel, but when the distance proves too much, his arm dangles uselessly over the back of the chair. With a miffed huff, Dean folds it, tucking his chin into the crease of his elbow, glower-pouting at him.

“We figured you would,” Gabe says smugly.

Gabriel’s looking a touch pink in the cheeks himself, head propped up in his hand. He’s got his other arm draped over Sam’s shoulders, playing with the long hair in the back of his neck. The music’s getting too loud for Castiel, which is a sure sign he needs his bed.

He ignores his brother’s remark. Ever since Gabe walked in on Dean eating him out on the couch one Saturday morning (“Cassie! I figured out the new gouache filling recipe last night! Didn’t sleep a wink. You gotta try it! Oh, whoa, I see you’re trying something else entirely…”), he’s been in the know. Castiel incidentally also rescinded Gabe’s key privileges after that.

Which likely means that by extension Sam knows, though he’s never bothered to get that confirmed. Either because Gabe spilled or Dean confided in him, but none of them acknowledge this openly to each other. So perhaps technically their immediate company isn’t an issue. But their arrangement limits itself to the privacy of the bedroom and Castiel has no intention of risking said arrangement by allowing Dean to do something stupid in public.

Because friends with benefits are usually kept a secret. A piss-poor secret, perhaps, but still.

“Be safe,” Gabe smirks.

“We always are,” Castiel says dead-pan, as he orders an Uber through the app.

Sam gets up to pay their bill at the bar. Jo makes meaningful eyes as Cas helps Dean to unsteady feet under Gabe’s amused supervision.

“Or do you want us to drop you off?” Gabe offers.

“No need. There’s an Uber close-by and on its way.”

Because there’s no way he is sitting through a ride in the backseat of Sam’s car with Dean in this state. He’s learned quite a bit about Dean’s proclivities and being a handsy drunk is definitely one of them.

He and Dean have been friends since he drove his dinged up Lincoln into Dean’s auto repair shop over ten years ago. The Lincoln petered out a few years ago, which would have become a problem, if Dean didn’t build him an adorable, white R4 from scratch. Even after all these years, he doesn’t quite understand how or why he was allowed to take up space in Dean’s life, but he’s long given up on truly understanding. As long as said space is safeguarded.

Dean leans on the back of the chair heavily. “We’re going home?”

“Yeah, Dean, it’s late,” Sam smiles.

“Aww, Sammy, you ain’t supposed to be lookin’ out for me.”

“Sure, I am. Only fair considering all the times you look out for us.”

Sam wraps Dean in a hug, which ends with Dean slinging an arm over his shoulder. Castiel holds open the door for them. The cold has an instant effect on all of them, Dean most notably as he curses and shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. On instinct, Castiel angles himself towards him, opening up his trench. Dean slots to his side instantly, his voice a low rumble near his ear.

“Oh, sonovabitch, it’s chilly. Who’s driving?”

“The Uber is.”

Dean grumbles impatiently, as he looks around, curling into his warmth. “Well, where is it?”

“Keep your pants on,” Gabe quips. 

Bemused, Dean blinks, clearly distracted by the words ‘pants’ as his hand slips around Castiel’s waist, thumb hooking through one of his belt loops. Castiel can feel his lashes tickling his cheekbone. Then _that_ smile forms on his face as he retreats enough for the sight to fill his view. There’s something about Dean when he smiles like that, which draws him in. Inevitable. Every time.

Gabe’s voice cuts through the enthralled moment. “Are we still on for the festival tomorrow?”

“We paid for the tickets,” he says. “Whatever hangover he suffers, we’ll make it.”

He’s not exactly looking forward to a potentially hungover Dean. If they’d stay home, sure, because he’d get to be around a cuddly, somewhat whiny Dean all day. Eat a large breakfast. Watch something on the television and have him fall asleep in his lap.

“Uber!” Dean exclaims, cutting through the daydream.

The Uber parks smoothly in front of The Roadhouse’s entrance.

“Winchester?” the driver asks through the open window.

“That’s us,” Dean nods.

He clambers in without further ado, tugging his jacket tighter around himself. His arm drapes over the back of the seat, creating a perfect Castiel-sized space.

“See you guys tomorrow,” he says, diving in after.

“Don’t be late!”

The Uber gets moving, the warmth already affecting Dean as he sidles up to him, connecting them shoulder to hip. The smallest movement translates to his skin, like an engine’s sound vibrating through water. Dean drops his head to his shoulder with a sigh. Castiel settles into the soft interior of the car and the ease of Dean’s cuddling, as he brings up Tumblr. He’s expecting him to fall asleep any moment, but then Dean’s hand slides up his thigh. It’s a feather light touch loosening up a familiar, luscious suggestion in his gut.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t respond to the touch, at least not outwardly. Dean nuzzles into his neck, breath deceptively warm for one who’s almost eternally cold.

“Cas…”

_Oh, fuck._

His eyes widen as Dean’s voice dips into bedroom territory in that one syllable. Sparks ignite in the wake of Dean’s touch, like tiny flames burning through the fabric of his jeans. A response he’s never experienced in his life with anyone else. The first time around, he figured it was nerves at crossing that threshold with Dean, his best friend, of all people, but it’s been the same ever since. His gaze flicks to Dean’s blunt fingers digging into the thick of his muscles. There’s a hint of perpetual grime on Dean’s hands, though he’s keen on his hygiene and still sensitive about it if he catches Castiel staring.

Which is odd, since he gives – Dean’s words – zero flying fucks about it with anyone else. Castiel bought him the sweater with tiny winged fucks on it, because of that attitude. He literally and figuratively carries it well.

Thing is, he isn’t staring at the grime, when it happens. Rather at Dean’s hands. For all the hard work they do, they’re tremendously soft. His every touch is gentle, unless requested otherwise. He’s good at that too, because there’s little Dean isn’t good at if he puts his mind to it.

There are a few new wounds. One at the base of his thumb and another at the nail fold on his index finger. The scabs on his knuckles are almost fully gone. His lips part, giving way to a soft sigh, as he butterflies his fingers over Dean’s healing hands. His fingers wiggle when that simple gesture sends tingles through his nervous system.

No. He doesn’t quite understand why he responds this way to Dean. But it keeps happening.

And he loves it.

However… Dean laves his tongue on his neck, pulling an involuntary groan out, his hand continuing its journey up Castiel’s thigh. Castiel exhales roughly through his nose and prevents Dean’s hand from traveling further up, by blocking its path. “No.”

“What? Not no. My last three dates were a bust, Cas. I need…”

Dean kisses his neck, sucking down on that soft spot near his ear without a hint of restraint, the effect of his lips on his rapidly beating lifeline tangible in the charged space between them.

“Oh, I know what you need,” he says on an affected exhale, inching out of reach. “You’re not getting it.”

Arching his eyebrow, he glances at Dean, surely, hopefully looking a lot more collected than he feels. It is still a mistake. Dean pouts at him, which – really – he should have expected. His lower lip is glistening, drawing his gaze down and making him lick his own reflexively.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Dean says, voice dipping lower.

There isn’t a hint of reproach in his tone, merely… want. In that tone. Unfair. Ever since they started this thing, he’s become infinitely more sensitive to everything about Dean in a myriad of ways he’s still not fully able to fathom. He hopes it’s vice versa, but somehow ironically – despite being best friends – Dean’s become more of an enigma to him.

“You’re not fucking me while you’re drunk,” he says, “That was part of the deal. Though I don’t expect you to recall with the amount of alcohol you’ve got coursing through your system.”

“Psht. I didn’t drink that much.”

He shoots him a teasing smile. “More than you’re capable of handling anymore.”

“I hate getting older.”

Castiel sighs and, squirming his arm around Dean, reaches out to card his fingers through his bristly hair reassuringly. When given the choice, he’s always touching Dean one way or another, his hair most of all. It elicits the most beautiful responses, when he massages his scalp or just endlessly rakes through his hair. 

For one, he often starts humming. Random songs, but always lovely melodies. For two, if he applies certain techniques, it can devolve into other delightful endeavors. The gesture brings up a slew of memories, since they’ve been at this for almost a year. It seems to trigger muscle memory in Dean as well as he pushes into the touch and closer to him.

When Dean moves, his coordination is a touch off. Castiel curses softly, when he throws one leg over and straddles him, bumping his head to the roof of the Uber in the process.

“Dean, be careful,” he snaps.

Reaching up to shield the back of Dean’s head, he drops his phone, hearing it clatter between the seat and the car door. He catches the chauffeur’s frown in the rearview mirror. Disregarding his warning words, Dean dips into his neck, his breath hotly rising goosebumps, as he grinds down on him shamelessly.

“You can fuck me. How does that sound?”

Not half bad.

He grabs hold of Dean’s hips, at the same time trying to stop him before the chauffeur kicks them out and pulling him down on him harder. Nipping at his lips, he takes in Dean’s face hovering above him in the lamp lights, flashing by. His eyes are a bit droopy, but their intent is scarily focused on Castiel. He’s licking his lips more than usual, probably because he’s thirsty.

He knows it’s perfectly possible, since Dean’s not gone past the point of no return. He heard enough about Dean’s many dates to know his best friend is quite capable of performing up to more than satisfactory standards, even while inebriated.

He simply has zero urges to join that army of drunken conquests. So he set up the rule at the start.

Nor, let’s be clear, does he have any urge to fuck his best friend while he’s drunk, no matter how much said best friend wants him to. Common decency.

Dean rests their foreheads together, his breath invading his mouth. “Cas, come on, I dun wanna sleep alone tonight.”

That draws a rough exhale from him. Despite himself, he smiles ruefully as a by now familiar ache settles in his heart. He cups Dean’s face and holds him still. Or tries to, as Dean isn’t equipped to handle such scrutiny with much elegance. For some reason, it always makes him skittish when Castiel looks at him too intensely. Not that he’d know it if he’s being intense. It’s just what Dean says in those moments, playfully pushing him away or kissing him or finding some other way to stop him from trying to read the poetry dancing in those apple-green eyes.

Today, however, Dean acquiesces, eyebrows rising gently, as his hands slip into Castiel’s shirt. When did those buttons come undone?

Deft little fucker.

He places a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips, tasting the whiskey and resists dipping in deeper. “I’ll stay with you. No sex.”

Dean rumbles a protest as he kisses him, working his jaw open. That slow burning familiar fire kindles, warming the space around his heart reassuringly, the same way Dean affects his life. With a sigh, he frames Dean’s face between his hands and kisses back fervently, relishing in the arousal that’s swirling low in his gut. Come morning, pun intended, Dean will have sobered up. The festival isn’t until the afternoon, so hopefully they’ll get to make up for this.

*

Once within the familiarity of his own home, Dean all too quickly sheds layers of clothing, letting them fall on whatever surfaces he passes. The back of the leather couch. The kitchen counter. The already overflowing bathroom hamper (sheer luck!).

Castiel bypasses them, since he long ago figured it’s not up to him to remedy Dean’s littering tendencies. Perhaps if they were more than what they are, but no, even then. It’s too innate to Dean, the same way he laughs at some of his own jokes, sings along to crooners of songs when he thinks no one is looking (Castiel loves it when he pretends to sing them to him), gets completely wide-eyed when Castiel reads to him from his favorite books and poems, protects his loved ones with a fierceness that rivals Castiel’s, and is remarkably fond of anything and everything related to classic rock, cowboys or old school crime movies.

He listens to the sound of Dean peeing in the bathroom, while brushing his teeth, humming through the process. Smiling, he takes off his coat and shoes, before heading for the kitchen. He rummages around for the aspirin and vitamin C. Filling two large glasses with tap water, he plonks one of each in.

When he enters the bathroom, Dean is stark naked, bending over the sink to run wet hands over his face and through his hair. Whether on purpose or by accident, he isn’t sure, but he appreciates the view regardless, eyes tracking up from his bow legs to the curve of his freckled ass to the dip in his lower back, the softness around his sides and the thick muscles of his shoulders. He goes to set down Dean’s glass beside the sink. The wink Dean shoots him in the mirror tells him two things: Dean is doing it on purpose, and he got caught.

The water drips from his face to his chest, as he places his hands on the bathroom counter, tilting his hips. “You sure about what you said, Cas?”

“As sure as the dawn, by which time you’ll be sober again. Drink that, please.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, as he leans his hip against the counter and slowly drinks his own. Dean winks at him, while he downs his in one go, eyebrows rising with every bob of his Adam’s apple. He wheezes when he comes back up out of the glass, shaking his head. Which is still wet.

He closes his eyes against the spray of water drops that hits him in the face. Dean snickers and apologizes in the same breath, when he squints one glaring eye open. The glass makes a delicate clink sound when Dean sets it down. He puts his own next to it.

There’s a slant to Dean’s shoulders that tells him he’s dead tired. Gently he inches closer to him while he brushes his teeth. Dean just hangs there. By his side, his weight slowly but surely leaning in more, until Castiel is all that prevents him from falling over.

This domestic addition to their arrangement is relatively new. An unspoken one to boot, so he has no idea how to navigate it besides… letting it happen, because it makes him happy. Dean holds this curious balance between being extremely self-reliant and in constant search of companionship, for lack of a better word. He isn’t sure how else to explain his serial dating habit.

Not that it matters much, when he drops his head on Castiel’s shoulder the way he does now, looking at him in the mirror, and all he can do is gently return the gesture with a soft smile.

“’m Tired.”

He hums in agreement and rinses his mouth, quickly drying off his face. They hit that time of night where the world becomes quieter by the simple absence of life being lived, except in its small, beautifully vibrant pockets like theirs. Apple-green eyes find his, before they fall shut and Dean noses at his temple. This isn’t the booze either. Dean’s stupidly sweet, sober or drunk – provided no one provokes him.

He takes Dean by the hand, clicking the light off. They find their way to Dean’s bedroom, moving with an ease he should be used to by now. Yet it always catches him by surprise and every time his heart seems to swell a bit further. Or shatters some more. It’s a dime on its side lately.

He yawns, the aspirin kicking in easily, as he throws open the covers. Dean immediately slides into the bed, flopping onto his stomach, rubbing his face in the pillow like a cat as he tugs the sheets haphazardly up to his lower back. Dean grabs Castiel’s pillow and rolls onto his back, blindly fluffing it up, before putting it back down. To the sound of a huge yawn, Dean pats the spot next to him, as if it isn’t glaringly obvious where he belongs.

They slip into that moment again, where Dean’s already in bed, naked, and he still has to undress. It happens often enough, both ways. Though this is the first time it isn’t for the sake of their ‘benefits’, which casts it in a delicate glow that’s borderline making him nervous. He unbuttons his shirt quickly, smiling when Dean’s gaze track the movement and their eyes meet. Dean returns the smile, soft and easy, stretching languidly, the sheets pulling taut around him. His pants and underpants join his shirt on the dresser, an unhurried need taking hold.

Castiel crawls in the bed. It feels like a side-slotting kind of night and sure enough, Dean rolls into the crook of his arm immediately, draping an arm and a leg over him. He’s surprisingly warm, except for his nose, which runs a cooler trail along his jawline before he nuzzles into his neck.

“I’m sorry I drank too much, Cas,” Dean mumbles to the bolt of his jaw.

His heart leaps into his throat at the words. He sounds genuinely upset. Hating the idea that Dean’s somehow distraught, he tightens his hold on him in mute reassurance, sliding his fingers up Dean’s bare back.

Knowing each other the way they do, Dean has intimate knowledge of his past, growing up with an alcoholic father. It’s true that it plays into his choice of partners, though he has only had a few in his life. He’s quite alright being single like this.

However, he loathes the scent of booze on a man’s breath when he kisses him, as it never fails to remind him of how his father smelled whenever he got in his face. He’s come to sufficient terms with his past. What bothers him about it, beyond the obvious, is that it tends to screw with people’s coordination, ego and libido, none of which he finds particularly appealing in potential partners.

Somehow, however, Dean is the exception. But then Dean seems to be the exception on the regular.

For example, Dean’s whiskey kisses always taste like more, whenever it does happen. Nor does his ego suffer the way most others’ do and when it comes to coordination, Dean is an affectionate drunk. A cuddler. Even if he’s a bit wobbly on his feet, Castiel finds himself accepting him. As is.

“Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me?”

He presses a sweet kiss to Dean’s lips, earning a soft yelp for his efforts, when he cups his face the way Dean likes. “Yes, I heard you, Dean. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean wraps himself around him, mumbling between kisses. “You’re too forgiving, Cas. ‘s A good thing you’re so picky or you’d end up with some douche who takes advantage of you. You deserve the world.”

He scoffs gently, pulling Dean in for another kiss, because he doesn’t know what to say to that. Something about maybe already having the world at his fingertips. Maybe. It doesn’t matter much anyway, as they’re both exhausted and all he wants to do is curl up with Dean.


	2. Feeling It Slow, Over This Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's voice slurs a bit, because it’s their slow, lazy kind of morning sex. They’re facing each other, Cas’ hand wrapped around both their dicks, their legs entwined as he leisurely jacks them off. He’s enjoying the way Dean trembles under the slow burn. Lowering his free hand to Dean’s hip, he traces his thumb over the freckled hip bone. He presses into it, Dean’s hips bucking of their own volition, a pleading sound escaping.

He nuzzles into Dean’s throat and licks the sweat off in a slow, hot trail. Salt and musk and perhaps they’re in need of a shower, but this is happening. Dean’s galloping heartbeat is tangible under his tongue, the dappled sunlight stealing kisses away from Castiel as it cascades in through the curtains.

“Fuck, Cas, you feel so good,” he says, voice low and ragged.

Dean's voice slurs a bit, because it’s their slow, lazy kind of morning sex. They’re facing each other, Cas’ hand wrapped around both their dicks, their legs entwined as he leisurely jacks them off. He’s enjoying the way Dean trembles under the slow burn. Lowering his free hand to Dean’s hip, he traces his thumb over the freckled hip bone. He presses into it, Dean’s hips bucking of their own volition, a pleading sound escaping.

Nipping at his lips, he coaxes Dean closer, working his mouth open. He moans helplessly into the kiss, the touch and flavor of Dean flooding his senses and sparks ride his spine.

“Mmmhp, faster, I wanna…”

Abandoning the hip bone, he wraps his arm around Dean’s waist, pulling them flush together without losing his hold on their dicks, twisting his wrist for a better grip. His hand’s slippery with lube, their hips moving in lazy sync. Dean clutches onto his shoulders, fingers gripping his hair tight, sweet, delicious sounds falling from his lips into Castiel’s mouth. He loves these soft mornings, where Dean’s hair is a fluffy mess and this stolen moment almost feels like it’s a poem being read out loud in a language he doesn’t fully comprehend. Perhaps angels would.

A sheen of sweat glints off every inch of skin he can see, begging to be licked off. He watches Dean, cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering open and shut as he tries to make up his mind whether to surrender or hold Cas hostage in his gaze. His tongue protrudes between his teeth, as he whimpers increasingly needy requests, until Cas obliges and picks up the pace. He dips in to taste the salt off his skin once more.

“So beautiful, Dean,” he mutters into his skin. “So beautiful.”

Dean whimpers at the praise, nails digging into his back, seeking him out as he noses into him, soft yet urgent. “Cas, I’m… lo… so close.”

He isn’t far behind himself, but God, he wants to see his face when he comes. It’s sure to send him over the edge, because watching Dean blossom like a flower under the sun is Beauty. Also straight from a poem, albeit a smuttier one than the golden-speckled mornings.

Dean digs his teeth into his bottom lip around a wanton moan. “I want… more. Your…”

“I know,” he mutters. “Open up.”

Dean smiles wickedly, flashing pearly whites, as he parts his lips, sloppily licking them so the sheen of saliva on his tongue catches Castiel’s attention. He offers his fingers, thumbing across Dean’s lower lip, and eyes clouding over, Dean sucks them into his mouth. His tongue circles the sensitive pads of each finger. Tingles emerge from the contact, traveling through his arm, fanning out across his shoulder, which is such a strange awareness… that Dean can physically affect him so. Castiel shivers out a moan, his hips bucking, though his hand momentarily falters in jacking them both off, blessedly distracted.

Dean’s lips pop off wetly, a string of saliva connecting them. Castiel surges forward to lick it up and plunge his tongue in. He slides his wrist down Dean’s back until he meets the curve of his ass, slipping his finger between his cheeks. The pitch of his moans spikes in anticipation, Castiel smiling as he teases wet fingers around his hole, working his other hand with more focus.

“Oh, fuck, Cas, yesss… Please, yes..”

He works Dean up, circling his hole and tugging at the tight rim, dipping his thumb in for a moment before retreating, peeking through his lashes to see the flush on Dean’s cheeks, how his eyelashes flutter. Dean all but mewls, bucking into the circle of his hand. Castiel looks down at their dicks, slipping and sliding together, both of them leaking precome. Everything is hot and sweaty and blissfully captivating, as he pushes the pad of his finger down on his rim, Dean keening with every teasing thrust, until his own focus slips. He lets Dean kiss him messily, softly, moving with sweet abandon, tongue pushing in, soft nips at his lips. He jacks them off in earnest, hypnotized by Dean falling to pieces at his hands.

Green eyes open, darkened by lust and a want so profound, it’s painful to entertain as anything more than what it is.

But his name keeps falling from those beautiful lips, fragile through ragged breaths so deep he’s shaking, as Dean’s face twists in pleasure. He surrenders with a keened ‘Cas’, hips stuttering as he comes, hot semen spurting all over his hand and their abdomens. Dean’s hands scrabble for purchase on his back and he buries his face in Castiel’s neck, sucking down hard on his skin, because he _knows_ exactly where and how and what and oh, fuck… his heat so intimate on his skin… All in perfect time to push Castiel over the edge with him, his vision whiting out as he orgasms, while he still sees green eyes and freckles. His semen mingles with Dean’s, their combined sharp scent wafting up between them.

Dean groans through a laugh, shuddering and going limp against him, placing endless soft kisses along the column of his neck to his jawline. He gingerly lets go of the mess between them and holds his sticky hand at bay, as he folds around Dean. A pleased chuckle rasps out of him and he swallows, trying to fix his voice.

“We gotta go,” he whispers, hoping his reluctance is not dripping off every syllable.

Dean groans and shakes his head, burrowing deeper into his neck, but it’s brief. Too brief. And then his warmth is receding already, pulling something comforting and grounding from him. “I demand we stop for pancakes.”

“How’s your head?”

Dean glances over his shoulder, twinkling green eyes taunting him. “You’d know that better than I do.”

“Hmm,” he smiles, rolling his eyes as he sits up so Dean can’t see his face.

He wants to kiss Dean again. Pull him back down and on top of him. Ask him to remind him how his head is, because though he hasn’t forgotten – how could he really - he’d like a reminder. But he can tell by the way Dean’s moving, making those dry mouth smacking sounds as he scratches his head, that their moment is slipping out of his grasp.

As it always does.

As it’s meant to.

*

Squinting against the sun or at them, Sam’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows sinking low. “You’re late.”

Castiel shrugs mildly, as he slams Baby’s driver door shut, the hinge creaking in her telltale way. “He wanted pancakes for breakfast.”

“You spoil him, Cas.”

Dean flashes him a grin over Baby’s roof, slinging the duffel over his shoulder, as he slides a pair of aviator sunglasses on.

“How are you, Dean-o?!”

Dean grimaces at Gabe’s loudness and grabs him in a one-armed headlock. It’s insultingly easy, though Gabe’s gotten better at getting out of them. Castiel suspects Sam has been teaching him a few tricks.

“Nice try, Shortbread. Not a headache in sight. Just a mild fuzziness and permanent thirst.”

Squirming out of his grip, Gabriel snickers and shoots him a dirty wink. “Oh, really?”

They start walking towards the tents. Dean throws his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, squeezing down pleasantly. “Of course. Cas has my back!”

“Doesn’t he just,” Sam mutters lowly.

Castiel ignores the banter, quite used to and in fact fond of it. For the most part. He inhales the scent of grass and clear air, sharing in some of Dean’s fuzziness, despite the remedy before bed last night. Age.

“Ooh,” Dean singsongs, when they make it within range of the music.

Dean pats around in his leather jacket for the tickets, presenting four crumpled up papers to the volunteer working the main entrance with a dazzling smile.

“Dean, they have an app,” Sam scoffs.

“The only useful app is Bumble. Everything else is utter balls. Except maybe Tumblr.”

“I’d beg to differ, but that’s a pointless endeavor,” Sam smirks. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“We went through the university library and are packing up a fair load of books that need to go. Would you want to take a look?”

He let out a pleased sound. As a historian at the local university, Sam has access to a boatload of books, with an increased percentage of rather unique ones, both in age, subject and edition.

“I’d love to! The coming week is quite busy…”

“With the signing coming up,” Sam nods. “I know. I’ll hold on to them in my office.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“What about us?” Gabe protests, thumbing at himself and Dean.

“I hate to break it to you, but the university doesn’t hold a lot of chocolatier cook books.”

“How dare they not?” Gabe says, a dramatic hand to his forehead. “I suppose you must buy me one.”

Dean snickers. “Good idea. I know a lovely book shop close-by. And I’m golden anyway,” he shrugs, winking at Castiel. “Straight from the source. For all my needs.”

He knows it isn’t meant to sound dubious, but these days most things do to his depraved brain. Castiel stares at the blue skies overhead, ignoring the dating app remark that fell a few minutes earlier and marginally succeeding, because he’s thirsty.

“I’ll go get us some tokens for drinks. And drinks, while I’m at it.”

“We’ll find us a spot to spread-eagle,” Gabe says.

“Fuck that,” Sam protests, “I didn’t pay to lie on my back all day.”

“Dean, can I have our bottles?”

Dean rummages through the duffel and hands him two empty reusable bottles. Gabe does the same from his backpack. He turns towards the token stall, planted right next to the bar and food court. There’s a scent of hay and pollen on the air that tickles his nose, making him sneeze.

The line isn’t too long and the people around him are beautiful in that early spring glow kind of way. In the line next to him is a couple, standing close together as they talk and giggle, the sun catching their details. Sunglasses reflecting, eyes peeking over the top bar lovingly. The darker brown of the root lengths contrasting with the copper dye job. The slant of shoulder blades vanishing into a tank top. Their hair touches. They remind him of a cover on one of the new book arrivals that’s bound to come in. A delicate Impressionist, sun-dappled work of art, old school in its relief brush strokes.

The person in the token stall pulls him out of his musings and he quickly pays for what he deems enough tokens to get them through the day, taking Dean and Gabe’s appetite into account. He follows the natural flow of pedestrian traffic and ends up in line at the bar. There are more people working here, creating an easy pace. He makes them fill their water bottles, withstanding the mild confusion at the process, thanks them for their cooperation and adds four pieces of fruit to the order, even though they packed snacks in the duffel. He stuffs the pockets of his trench as full as he can, leaving him with two oranges to carry by hand.

He excuses himself, as he maneuvers his way back out of the steadily growing line. Tracking his eyes across the festival attendants, he gets caught all too easily on Dean’s outlined frame, hands on his hips, and his heart clenches. It physically takes his breath away and he needs a moment to let it subside.

In a sudden, strange brain twist, he wonders if perhaps their arrangement has run its course. Not that he wants to stop it, quite the contrary, but Dean seems content the way it is and Castiel isn’t sure he is anymore. And he wonders how tenable this kind of arrangement is, when that happens. Their friendship is on its own level. When it comes to their benefits, they rely on each other’s company, when they’re not dating anyone exclusively.

Castiel hasn’t dated in… well, not at all since they started doing this. And mediocrely before that. As far as he knows, Dean hasn’t dated anyone more than twice within that same timeframe. He wonders if the app is faulty. If an app can be faulty. Because those are some poor odds to find true love.

He starts moving again. Dean smiles at him brightly, when he catches sight of him, making grabby hands at the oranges. He shed his jacket and hoodie, the t-shirt stretching pleasantly across his chest and biceps. Without even needing to ask, he starts plucking things out of Castiel’s trench, setting the bottles down on their double-blanket-territory, along with the two bananas. He chucks off the trench, folding it double neatly before putting it on the duffel.

“Where are Sam and Gabe?”

“Indie tent,” he says, pointing at a brightly colored tent. “Where do you want to go?”

“Nowhere in particular,” he says, as he sits down. “We’re close enough to the classic rock tent for me. And I want to sun-sloth.”

He tilts his head up as he says it, eyes falling shut, unbuttoning his shirt a ways down. The warmth of her is soothing on his skin and he wouldn’t mind a nap. Dean moving messes with the light behind his closed eyelids and he smiles, thinking his friend is impatient to go. “You don’t have to stay.”

Dean makes a soft sound and then he feels him settling down next to him, so he squints at him lightly. “Dean?”

His head lands in his lap, like it belongs there. “I’m good here for a while. Band I wanna see isn’t until 2pm anyway.”

And then he pulls up Bumble.

Castiel grimaces and squirms, so he can lie down, Dean accommodating him before settling back in. He folds both hands behind his head, so he can’t card his fingers through Dean’s hair. Chasing the clouds with his eyes, he tries to still his mind, but apparently he’s in one of those inquisitive moods, where he wants to make sense of the intangible.

“Are you planning to take any of them remotely seriously?”

“Huh?”

“Those dates,” he clarifies.

“As serious as any of them do, I guess. Half of them are just killing time.”

Killing time. He frowns. “What’s the point?”

Dean lets out an amused sound. “Of killing time?”

“Of any of it.”

“Not an unfair question. Not sure I can answer it. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you seem hell-bent on wanting company, but none of your dates ever seem to work out.”

He casts a cursory glance across his stomach to Dean. His hair’s standing on end, thicker like this, because they didn’t have enough time for the full grooming ritual. He’s frowning down at the phone, all the while steadily swiping or accepting offers. Castiel doesn’t really know how it works nor does he care. His leg twitches in annoyance, nudging the back of Dean’s head. He shoots out his hand to rest it on Dean’s chest.

“’m Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says smoothly, shooting him a quick glance. “Uhh… I don’t know why they don’t work out. Maybe my standards are too high.”

That’s something, at least. He scrunches up his face, the tickle of curiosity spurring him on as he glances back at Dean. The way he tilts his head, he seems aware Castiel is looking at him.

“So what are your standards?”

Dean’s ears turn pink and he shakes his head. “I dunno, man, it’s an intuitive thing. I guess. Not like I have a list in my head.”

He tries to understand. His social graces are still rusty, despite having successfully carved out his little nook in the world with a handful of people that fit him, so to speak. But this is something that will likely be forever out of his grasp. Friends with benefits. Online dating. Going with your gut, whatever that means. Sometimes he thinks he gets it and then… stuff happens.

“I don’t see the point of the process if you can’t even say for sure what you’re looking for in someone.”

“In – too – eeh – tive, Cas. That means I go with my gut. If it feels right… I’ll know.”

He flicks a finger to Dean’s ear, who bats at his hand, laughing and interlacing their fingers. Oh, and isn’t the sight of Dean in his lap, eyes aglow with sunlight, cheeks flushed, their entwined hands resting on his abdomen utter perfection?

A stuttering breath makes it out, his voice gone for that split second, and then he pushes on, because that won’t do.

“I know the meaning of the word, you ass,” he teases. “I suppose the whole concept confuses me. Old man and all.”

Dean snorts, reaching up and between his legs, squeezing his soft inner thigh without shame. He yelps, legs jerking and tries to squirm out of reach, but Dean releases him with a wicked chuckle and they settle back down.

“Only by eight years, Cas, and you age beautifully.”

It’s almost offhanded, the way he says it, but he knows Dean well enough to catch how genuine the compliment is. His blood rushes louder in his ears and he can feel his cheeks heating up. He wishes his body would stop behaving so erratically around Dean. He’s gotten plenty of compliments over the years, but now he starts responding like an awkward teenager.

“I am not fishing for compliments,” he says. “I am merely stating that the concept of online dating apps is strange to me.”

“It took some getting used to for me too,” Dean shrugs. “But it beats picking people up in bars.”

“How’s that? It was your main modus operandi when we met.”

“You didn’t notice that changed like… years ago?”

He falters for a moment. Of course he noticed, but he didn’t feel a need to point it out. Because for a while, he hoped, until…

“I guess it just looked like you went from bar-dating to app-dating?”

Dean laughs, a deep rumbling sound emanating from him, vibrating pleasantly through his thigh. “I’ll own that. These people at least had to think about what they put in their profile. A bit. Which implies they aren’t running on either inebriation or desperation or a mixture of both.”

“That is a good thing,” he nods.

When did his hand make it into Dean’s hair? He glances down, brow knitting together, but he continues carding through the soft strands. In the sunlight it’s the color of a russet wolf’s belly, but softer, no doubt.

“So no one’s been able to hold your interest?”

“Uhh,” Dean stutters.

And that’s interesting, because Dean usually doesn’t stutter around him. Or anyone really… He laughs softly, though something swirls unpleasantly low in his stomach, like he feels a bit sick. “Aww, there is.”

Dean hesitates, eyeing him unsurely, as if he’s trying to gauge him. Odd. When Castiel blinks a few times, confusion rising, Dean huffs gently and looks back at his phone.

“Of my recent dates, there’s only one guy that seemed fun. He had sweet eyes and a good singing voice.”

Castiel’s face does something. He feels it in the way his muscles twitch, but only the clear, blue skies overhead and the sun are witness to it. He removes his hand from Dean’s hair to card it through his own, because all of a sudden he feels unmoored, like he’s lifted out of this human vessel and adrift.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dean mumbles. “I mean, it’s not like there’s any true love lining up any time soon, right?”

The quivering timbre of Dean’s voice, he senses there’s something there, pleading for his attention, but he’s having trouble thinking straight. He presses his palms to his eyes, pressure on his eye sockets and quickly swallows a few times, trying to find his voice.

“What’s his name?”

“Lee. His name’s Lee.”

The silence that follows feels stilted, although their surroundings are anything but quiet. He senses Dean typing away on his phone, until he suddenly stops. A hand lands on his ribs, its warmth seeping through and adding to his already unpleasantly hot insides.

“Want to go check out the main tent?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a bit more. Feel like a nap.”

Dean pushes off of his lap, leaving a cold, empty spot behind, and leans on his elbow. “You okay, Cas?”

He smiles at him, because Dean’s worried and there’s no reason for that.

“I’m fine, Dean, just didn’t get enough sleep.”

“Was I starfishing on you again?”

Castiel just shakes his head, though, _yes,_ Dean did starfish on him, but he likes the weight of him. Dean’s brow furrows as he leans closer and for a split second, he wonders if he’s contemplating kissing him. A wild idea, which almost pulls his soul from under his sternum with sticky want, but then he’s leaning further onto his elbows, his hair tickling his cheeks, as he sits up on his knees.

He rises to his full length, a pillar of golden light and darkened shadows Castiel has to squint up at from his vantage point. He can’t see his face when he speaks, but knows he’s flashing him a toothy smile, dimples likely showing.

“Don’t get sunburned.”

He does, of course.

Which results in Dean fussing over him on the way to Baby at the end of the day, insisting on applying aftersun _before_ he drops him off at his place. His bed feels colder than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums* I pretty much listened to the title song non-stop while writing this... and currently working on the last chapter. They're almost 'done'.
> 
> Until then, you're stuck with them in their chaos.
> 
> Love you, I swear,  
> Mal


	3. 'Cause This Is Where I Wanna Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly tears are stinging in his eyes. His breath hitches, but he blinks and swallows hard. This sucks, but come on, crying isn’t going to buy you more time. Which sounds so much like Dean’s pragmatism, he cracks a smile through a sob and goddamnit, he’s crying a bit and his heart reaches out on instinct. As easy as breathing, like it’s second nature, he’s dialing his number.
> 
> Dean picks up on the first ring. “Heya, Cas.”

It’s a busy day at the book shop. Thankfully, because it keeps him occupied, even though he’s getting anxious about the delivery that’s running late. It’s an important one, because it carries a fair few of the new publications he’s been advertising for two months. People made reservations and he has one of the writers coming over for a book signing tomorrow. He needs that shipment in – can’t afford the financial strain as a small business owner, but the driver’s not picking up and the online status is stubbornly stuck on its – by now – wrong ETA. He’s also behind on his paperwork, because Balthazar fell ill, which means he’s running one too many tasks on his own. On any day that’s usually alright, but with the event tomorrow, it’s a lot.

Castiel loves his job. The shop is small enough for him to handle it with relative elegance and his clientele are all familiars to him. He knows them by name and surname, has a fair idea of how their families are doing, depending on how chatty they are. Most of them are patient and enjoy browsing the many book shelves within the warmly lit, wooden interior. There’s never been a rude person to enter, he wasn’t able to stare down and politely request to remedy their unfortunate behavior or leave his shop.

Though certainly not the easiest choice he could have made, this is by and large a beautiful life. His favorite coffee shop is around the corner. Everything and everyone of importance is within a 30 minute driving distance: Dean’s apartment, nestled above his auto repair shop, Sam and Gabe’s place, said favorite coffee shop, and The Roadhouse.

What has him hopelessly in knots is Dean going on a third date with Lee in less than two hours.

They’ve been texting throughout the day, despite it being so busy. Not about the date, because Dean seems to steer clear of the subject as much as he does. Castiel doesn’t ask if he’s nervous about it, because it’s a shitty question anyway and he also doesn’t really want to know.

No, Dean sent him pictures of a particularly lovely old timer that got dropped off at his shop today, gushing over it in detail. Castiel whined a bit about his situation, especially the delivery, and sent him blurbs of songs that would come on from his Spotify playlist, making him guess the title. Dean got each one without fault.

While clients are browsing, he has a moment to restore some order to the shelves in the romance section. It’s a popular corner of his shop, but that means lots of books get moved around on the regular. Sitting on the floor, he moves soft covers to their correct spot with practiced ease.

He smiles at the cover of one of the latest additions to his LGBTQIA offering, then looks closer and blinks. Balthazar did the unpacking on those, so he didn’t get the chance to actually look at them decently. The color palette of the two men on the cover looks familiar and he huffs softly. A smile breaks through so suddenly, it surprises him.

Silly. But cute.

They _would_ look good together, he muses, and oh… What?

He leans his head in his hand, mussing through his hair, as his thoughts become a butterflying mess around a crystal-clear center theme.

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

He presses the book to his chest, which is a trivial gesture, because it isn’t really them on the cover. Bemused, he stares at rows upon rows of book covers, their colors blending and meshing like his favorite Monet painting. The one with the bridge that the artist repainted several times over the course of his life.

He’s seen plenty of pictures of him and Dean over the years. Holidays, birthdays, festivals. He likes the ones at home best. They’re soft and warm and, well… _home._ Granted, none of them come close to the Harlequin type paintings that adorn these types of romance novels. Except for that one Halloween, perhaps.

One of his walls is fully adorned with pictures. He watches them often enough, so why this elicits this response, he doesn’t know.

He chases the trail, little nuggets lighting up in his mind with every step.

His connections are slow to build. There was no lightning bolt that struck him the very moment he met Dean. Their friendship was a slow-paced matter, in part due to his own ineptitude when it came to realizing Dean wasn’t just being an exceptionally friendly mechanic with an overly eager interest in his book shop.

The arrangement they’re in sprung from Dean’s mind, not his own. He isn’t sure why he agreed to it, beyond the obvious. Curiosity. Comfort. Warmth. Which is in fact to say, he isn’t sure why he didn’t give it more thought the way he does with nigh everything else.

Exceptions indeed, he thinks, as his hands caress the back of the books on the shelves and gets back to his feet to man the cash register.

He taps the touch screen, fingers flying easily, and hands over the paper bag with a smile. This is one of the few places where mundane conversation flows smoothly, without conscious effort. It’s equal parts sheer habit, like a flow chart, and residing in a genuine comfort zone. None of his clients pick up on his inner workings, in part because he lets them do most of the talking. Few of them know much about him, except for Charlie and Meg. Neither one of them is here today, because they’re on their honeymoon. Which is probably for the best. Making word sounds right now might have dire consequences, when faced with Charlie’s relentless exuberance and Meg’s equally relentless scrutiny.

He works his way through the line, quick and efficient, and finds himself squinting at the scuffs in the counter, fingers gliding over them. He needs to sand it down and repaint it, but that implies taking time off. Maybe Dean’s willing to help. His thoughts skip back to The Date unhelpfully.

Surely after ten years, Dean’s brazen approach, and the past year, they’d have become more if that’s what Dean wanted?

Suddenly he understands better why he’s been considering calling the arrangement to an end.

The bell above the door tinkles delicately when the last client leaves and he flicks his wrist. The delivery is abhorrently late and Dean must be with Lee by now. It’s also time to close up shop, so he makes a quick round through his tiny labyrinth of a shop, ensuring no one remains.

He flips the front sign to closed, locking the door, and digs up his phone, when it rings.

“Hello, Castiel Novak at Subtext. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Cas, it’s Anna.”

He smiles. Anna’s a few years younger than him, but he remembers her from high school. They dated briefly, until she figured something out before Castiel did. She runs the Milton warehouse with her brother, Michael.

“Hey Anna, you okay?”

“Peachy. Just calling you to let you know your delivery has been dropped off with us.”

“They what…? Wait.. No, it was supposed to be delivered here.”

“That’s what I told the driver, but he had three more deliveries to get to and he was already late.”

“You’re telling me? He should have been here by noon.”

“Apparently there were some serious delays at various checkpoints and his communication was down.”

Castiel rubs his forehead, letting the information sink in. “Why didn’t he just drop it off here? It’s only…”

“A 30 minute drive,” Anna says. “I guess it was easier, because we’re closer to the highway and listed as a registered drop off, so he could get back on the road sooner. If I were you, I’d reconsider working with these guys.”

“I thought I was playing it safe with a bigger company.”

“Hit and miss sometimes. We can hold on to these boxes for you until it suits you to pick them up. Free of charge.”

“That’s just it,” he sighs. “And thank you for that kind offer, but I need them today. What are the odds of one of your drivers…?”

She hums apologetically, sucking in air. “We’re not a distribution center, but you’re welcome to pick them up. I have a shitload of paperwork to get through, so I’m working overtime anyway.”

“I… Yes,” he mumbles, because what else can he do. “That… I’ll do that, though it might take me a few trips. Or I can check the boxes and pick the right ones.”

“Whatever suits you, Cas. Sorry to hear this is so inconvenient.”

Which means his voice is giving him away. He clears his throat. “That’s alright. It’s hardly your fault. Thanks for accepting the delivery and being so flexible.”

He can hear the bright smile in her voice. “Don’t worry your pretty head over it. I’ll see you soon. Take the side entrance when you get here. I’ll make sure it’s unlocked.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Anna.”

He hangs up and presses the back of his hand holding the phone to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Okay. He was supposed to ready the signing nook tonight and do some last cleaning, which will now have to wait until tomorrow morning, meaning he’ll have to get up earlier.

“Fuck.”

Suddenly tears are stinging in his eyes. His breath hitches, but he blinks and swallows hard. This sucks, but come on, crying isn’t going to buy you more time. Which sounds so much like Dean’s pragmatism, he cracks a smile through a sob and goddamnit, he’s crying a bit and his heart reaches out on instinct. As easy as breathing, like it’s second nature, he’s dialing his number.

Dean picks up on the first ring. “Heya, Cas.”

“Dean.”

His tone immediately shifts to warm concern and just hearing him takes some of the sting out of the situation. “You okay? What happened?”

“I… I’m fine. It’s… just the delivery. The driver dropped it off with the Miltons, just out of town and I have to go pick it up, but it’s so much, I’m going to have to drive up several times, cause my car’s so small and I still need to rearrange the shop for the… for…” He hiccups, out of breath.

“For the signing tomorrow,” Dean says. “Shit, what a mess. Hold on. I’m coming over, okay?”

The relief is intense. This is what Dean does. For him and everyone he loves. He steps up, every time. Then he hears a voice in the background and realizes. “Oh. No, wait, your date. Lee. Dean, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“Cas, it’s okay. This is important. You can’t afford to have to cancel an event you’ve been working towards for months.”

It’s true. He can’t, but he suddenly feels like an utter assbutt for interfering with Dean’s date. “But it’s your third date,” he mutters.

The first one in years.

Dean sighs on the other end. “Cas, you’re in friggin’ tears. I’m not going to sit here, knowing that.”

He fidgets around the phone, his leg jittery, as he chews his lip.

“There’s nothing you can say. I’m putting on my jacket.”

“But what about Lee?”

“He’s in the bathroom. I’ll explain and pick up the tab in apology.”

Castiel sighs, casting pleading eyes to the heavens, because he’s feeling all kinds of miserable and elated at the same time, because Dean’s ditching his date to hurry towards him. Worry jolts through that realization. “Please tell me you’re sober.”

“Only one whiskey and soda since then. You’re the worst influence.”

He huffs a fragile laugh. “You’re welcome. Please extend my apologies to Lee…?”

“You worry too much. But I will. Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“How did you know?”

“You gotta ask? Breathe deep a few times. I’ll be there before you can say Poughkeepsie.”

“You’re so strange, Dean Winchester.”

“You love me,” he chuckles lowly. The next second, Dean’s voice seems to catch and he hums. “I.. See you in a bit, Cas.”

He guesses Lee got back and nods, then realizes Dean can’t see that. “Okay,” he whispers, at a bit of a loss, but stupidly grateful.

*

He burrows deeper into the indulgent warmth of Baby’s interior, sneaking a sideways glance at Dean. One hand loosely on the wheel, the other leaning partly out the open window, he’s the picture of smooth ease in his natural habitat. Especially since it’s dark, lending an odd out of time road trip feel to the moment. He blushes when he becomes aware of the song playing… After Dean gave him a mixtape years ago, they slipped into the habit of gifting them on a yearly basis. The one currently playing was heavily dominated by the same band. The smoker’s gravelly, esoteric voice triggers some Twin Peaks vibes.

When Dean notices him looking, he flashes him _that smile_ and a wink that lifts his heart. He sighs and returns the smile, albeit a tired one. Their eyes linger, Dean’s face softening and he tilts his head, then looks at the back seat. It’s stacked to the ceiling with boxes, her trunk equally stuffed. There are still two boxes left at the warehouse, but they contain non-critical books, which he’ll happily pick up along the week when the chaos has died down and Balthazar’s back.

It took two rides, but he’s infinitely more at ease now that everything’s back on track. He managed to arrange the shop while Dean made his way over, the process of it grounding him sufficiently by the time he arrived. So all he’ll need to do tomorrow is arrange the display, clean up, make tea and coffee, and open the doors in time. Enough, but manageable.

“Here we are,” Dean says on a tired smile, as he opens his door and puts one leg out. “Let’s get these inside. I’ll help you unpack.”

“You’ve done enough already,” he smiles, still somewhat uneasy but afraid to ask about Lee.

Dean pokes his head down, leaning his arm on Baby’s open door, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take your gratitude.”

“I’ll bake you a pie on Tuesday. Can you hold out two days?”

“Apple with cherry?”

He smiles, as he unlocks the front door and nudges the plunger door stop in place with his foot. “Whatever you want. You’re a lifesaver, Dean.”

Dean pecks a kiss behind his ear, catching him off guard, as he slips past with the first box. The night is suddenly heavy on his skin, its quiet humming in his ears, as he moves like a man in a dream to unload Baby. The music continues to play, Dean singing along softly, blissfully unaware of his impact – as per usual, he guesses.

It doesn’t take them long to unpack all the boxes. Dean unpacks a fair few of them, despite Castiel’s protests.

“Hey, okay if I drop by during my break?”

“Of course! The writer’s here until 1pm, then I’m taking her to lunch, while Gabe minds the shop. You can join us if you like?”

“In my dirty wife beater?”

Castiel snorts dismissively. “You’ve been sauntering into the shop in that outfit for years. I doubt anyone will bat an eye.”

“The writer, Cas. She might.”

He frowns around a yawn. “Hardly. If anything you’ll serve as fodder for the next cover.”

“Well, color me charmed.” Dean folds the empty box flat, setting it aside in the back, and returns, dusting his hands on his jeans. “We good to go?”

Castiel looks around the shop and nods, pleased with the mental to-do list, that’s been severely reduced compared to before he called Dean. “Yes, I think so,” he sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Dean shrugs off the compliment, as they walk outside, Castiel locking up fully. “You’d have managed just fine, Cas. You always do.”

“It’s much nicer this way.”

Dean grins smoothly, eyes glittering in the street lamp light. “That, I can’t argue with.”

He resists the urge to bring up he should probably argue about lugging heavy boxes around over being on a date. “God, I’ll be glad to see my bed.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean smiles. “Sweet dreams, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow, cover-worthy.”

“You’re always...” he starts, but falters, scratching at his scruff idly.

Dean laughs easily as he steps closer and just like that he’s enveloped in the softness of his leather jacket and warmth. With a sigh, he squeezes him closer, arms around his neck, breathing him in.

“G’night, Dean,” he murmurs. “See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved working on this chapter. I remember evenings like that (not this specifically 'that', obviously, but the vibe). Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> And well, these two just need a cuddle. Or you know, more than that.
> 
> I hope you're good, wherever you're at, whatever's going on and this brought a smile to your face.  
> Much love, as always,  
> Mal


	4. Tell Me It’s Love, Tell Me It’s Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where’s this coming from, buddy?”
> 
> He scowls at the nickname. It’s been a while since Dean used it and he does not like it popping back up one bit.
> 
> “I.. It’s just, I find it difficult sometimes to connect with people. Get on the same page, so to speak, but I think… maybe…”

**> > Cas! I’m making Mexican spread for four. Wanna hop over?**

<< That’s still two people short, isn’t it?

**> > Not with my appetite.**

<< If you’ll spare me the food baby complaints. Just pop the button.

**> > Harhar, wiseass. Comin’ or not?**

<< Of course, Dean. Your spread is delectable.

**> > Smooth, Cas, real smooth. You’re giving me ideas. Get your ass over here.**

<< Shower first.

It remains a little too quiet too long after that, so he gets moving, only to have his phone ding at him when he’s in the bathroom.

**> > Picture?**

<< Of the shower?

**> > Ooh-kay. Sure, Cas, of the shower.**

<< You’re in luck.

**> > Really? Could have fooled me.**

<< I made fresh pie.

**> > Okay, that’ll work.**

<< Apple or rhubarb?

**> > YES.**

He grins, despite the general grumpiness that’s causing a near constant unease low in his gut of late. Humming, he strips and takes an efficient shower. Barring one snapshot moment. Checking the result and deeming it sufficiently enticing, he hesitates to send it, instead focusing on drying off. By the time he’s dressed, he decides against it, though he isn’t sure why. Not like they haven’t sent those before.

Oh, right.

Maybe because he doesn’t know if Dean actually went on his third date with Lee yet, making them potentially exclusive, which would mean… He hasn’t asked, because he doesn’t dare to, and strangely Dean hasn’t offered up the information. Which means there’s a small bit of no man’s land between them where neither of them dares to tread.

While getting the pies out of the fridge, he tries to work his way through a conversation that sort of remedies… all of that. In his head, it makes sense, kinda like those romance novels do.

*

“God, this is so good,” he moans around a mouthful of taquitos.

Dean scoffs gently, as he shoves a messy handful of cheesy nachos in his mouth. “God has nothing to do with this.”

“It’s just an expression, as you so often say.”

“I won’t have any room left for pie at this rate,” Dean mutters.

Castiel ticks his eyebrow up a smidge. “That’d be a first.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’ll succumb regardless.”

Dean’s phone buzzes for the second time in short succession, which shouldn’t bother him, but his gaze lingers on the suddenly offensive appliance when he reaches for it. He does that crooked half-smile thing at whatever text message is drawing his attention away from their dinner. Castiel chews the inside of his cheek. Usually Dean isn’t easily distracted by his phone, especially not over food, but tonight seems different. So whoever’s at the other end is important enough to merit it.

He knows he has no right to feel this way, but then green’s probably his favorite color. How fitting.

He swallows the last of his food, the most obvious question he wants to ask with it so it can hopefully dissolve there. But he’s been thinking so much over the last week and a half, he feels like he’s going to burst at the seams if he doesn’t at least try. For all his love of the written word, he struggles to arrange them in his mind’s eye, especially when it comes to the delicate, poetic matters of the heart.

As soon as he finishes his plate, Dean licks his fingers and smiles around them. “Pie on the couch?”

He groans, but nods anyway, because cleaning up and slicing two pieces of pie buys him some time to align his thoughts. Nerves vibrate under his sternum with such intensity, his hands shake minutely while he handles the knife.

“They’re too cold to eat yet.”

Dean grumbles in huffy protest, while boiling water for tea. “I suppose that allows for some digestion…”

Tongue protruding from his lips, he gingerly slides one slice of each on a plate. “God forbid, but yes.”

They each grab a plate and head to Dean’s living room. When he casts a look down the hallway, he catches the soft yellow light coming in through the wall to wall window with a view of the workshop below. For a moment, he halts.

There’s something comforting about the way Dean set up his home. He never expected himself, with his penchant for weighted blankets on the couch, softly lit book stores, warm coffee shops and poetry to be so at home within Dean’s world. The one made of the scent of strong coffee, oil and sweat, the sound of metal on metal and a permanent classic rock station, of wide open spaces with cars laid bare and a man in a tank top and overalls.

His heart wrenches at the realization that he wants to be here. More than he is now.

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice jolts him out of his realization with all the subtlety of a cold shower and he breathes faster. His head appears around the corner. “You comin’?”

He hums and follows after him quickly, sliding into his spot on the couch. Dean already laid out his blanket.

“Netflix or Spotify?”

Distracted by arranging his blanket, while balancing the plate, he doesn’t immediately reply, but smiles when a familiar tune picks up. He squints pleasantly at the screen, the word ‘Heavenly’ catching his attention.

“Ooh, you turned it into a playlist.”

“Of course. We’ve got so many tapes by now, I figured I’d make a compilation of each.”

He scoffs in disbelief, looking up at Dean, as he sets his plate down and joins him on the couch. “You’re abandoning old school?”

“Are you nuts? Those tapes are almost always playing, either in Baby or the shop.”

“I’m aware,” he smiles. “I’ve had to copy some of the older ones. Didn’t want to lose them.”

Dean rolls his hips from side to side, settling in, and takes a first, tentative bite out of the rhubarb slice. His heart flip-flops at the pleased sound Dean makes, eyes fluttering shut, though he’s heard it numerous times before. He leans back and sideways lightly, in search of any point of added contact. When he finds it, he sinks back, savoring the moment, the flavor and his company.

He’s not sure what drives him to speak, when he does, though it might be the fact that Dean’s momentarily distracted by his phone. Again.

“Dean?”

“Hmmyeah..? Cas?”

The way his name spills off his lips so naturally has him smiling. Dean drags his eyes away from the phone, blinking a few times to refocus, when he sees his expression.

“You know I am measured in how I connect to people, right?”

Green eyes sparkle with soft affection. “I’m aware, yes. A slow burn, if you will.”

The moniker is fitting, if some of the stories out there are anything to go by and it hits a lot closer to home than Castiel expects, considering what he’s attempting to convey.

“I mean, I’m not very quick on the uptake when it comes to people’s intentions…”

Dean laughs, resting his cheek to his fist, sliding his arm up the back of the couch, leaning sideways. “You’re telling me? It took me months to get your number.”

He smiles at that, content that Dean’s phone seems forgotten.

“You also know I am not prone to flings.”

“I… know.”

Dean scrutinizes him, which sets his hackles up, because it’s all too sensitive right now. He doesn’t quite know how to tie his last words to the one where he expresses how he wants to be more than best friends with benefits.

“Where’s this coming from, buddy?”

He scowls at the nickname. It’s been a while since Dean used it and he does not like it popping back up one bit.

“I.. It’s just, I find it difficult sometimes to connect with people. Get on the same page, so to speak, but I think… maybe…”

_ I finally did. Years ago. With you. _

Dean’s brow furrows, as he licks his lower lip. “Are you… trying to tell me you.. found someone?”

“What?” he mutters, jaw falling slack, train of thought utterly disrupted.

Suddenly, those bright green eyes are guarded and skittish, as they start bouncing around the room, to the television, the crumbs on his plate, but never quite making it back to Castiel’s face. “That’s good. Right? If you are. I mean… it was bound to happen.”

_ Wait, no. Hold on. _

He stares, at a loss for words, mouth bone-dry and fidgets with the blanket.

“I figured since you were pushing me towards the dates. Asking if I planned on taking any of them seriously…”

“That wasn’t meant to push you…”

“Hey, we both know I need a boot in the ass now and then. You were right. I want more. I mean, I’m 35… that’s no way to go about this stuff, not if I want any of it to stick.”

He’s moving his mouth around air, baffled at the turn this conversation has taken. That has to mean Lee’s still in the picture and likely on the other end of that damned phone, waiting for Castiel to go home already so he and Dean can…

“Which is neither here nor there,” Dean adds, looking up at him through his lashes. “Cause it ain’t about me. I’m happy for you, Cas.”

A nauseating frustration boils up within, his heart lodged in his throat. His head throbs, whatever’s swirling in his gut quickly and uncharacteristically escalating into anger. Because how is he supposed to backtrack all of this? Dean all but said that Castiel chased him towards Lee.

He groans at his own stupidity, pinching the bridge of his nose harshly, eyes squeezed shut. “God, you’re infuriating.”

“… What’d I do?”

“What, no… Not… Nothing at all,” he mutters, thinking that’s exactly the damn problem. He didn’t do anything when he had the chance. “Never mind.”

“Cas… What?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says, as he gets up. “I’ll leave you to your texting.”

His leg gets tangled in the blanket, until Dean helps to pry it off. His words come out about as snappy as he intends it, which is to say much snappier than Dean deserves and not nearly as collected as would be wise, all things considered. Dean’s serious about Lee, which means he needs to make room and has no right, dumping his inner workings on him. Apparently he was right about their arrangement running its course.

Dean spreads his hands in confused supplication. “What the hell? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just… I’m tired. Not feeling too well.”

Which isn’t a lie. It’s dodgy, because he wants to get out from under Dean’s increasingly worried gaze. The hurt in his expression threatens to shatter his already breaking heart into enough pieces he’ll never be able to put it back together, so he all but flees.

His phone buzzes as Dean tries to call him twice before he gets home. He leaves a message, asking what he’s done wrong, which is all kinds of messed up, because, no, Dean didn’t. It’s his own damn fault.

<< I’m sorry, Dean. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just not feeling okay. Maybe I caught whatever Bal had. I’m sorry.

It takes a while for an answer to come, by which time he’s in his bed, bundled up to his nose under weighted blankets.

**> > I still get the feeling it’s something I said or did. So… I dunno, man.**

<< I’m sorry for ruining your night.

**> > No apologies, Cas. You could never ruin any night. Sometimes it’s just one of those days. Please get your sleep, feel better and call me?**

<< Thank you, Dean. Don’t rack your brain over it. Sweet dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more, I promise. ^^ They're quite terrible. Idiots.
> 
> Soon though. Soon! Next week, in fact.
> 
> If you've been keeping track of these two, thank you for being here and taking the time! I appreciate it.
> 
> As always, you are beautiful and loved.  
> Mal


	5. Touch Me With A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He catches Dean’s worried expression at the sight and presses on, wanting the second most important part over with.
> 
> “I’m sorry for how I behaved. I should not have left that way.”
> 
> Dean’s gaze snaps up to his face at those words, his eyebrows conveying too much kindness. “That’s alright. I, uhh, I feel we skipped a few steps… in our last conversation.”
> 
> “That – sounds very plausible,” he admits with a curt nod.

Castiel walks to his front door, knowing full well who’s on the other side. After his dramatic, back-of-hand-pressed-to-forehead exit from Dean’s place, there’s no way Dean was going to let it lie. It isn’t his style, which Castiel supposes he should be grateful for, even when it’s going to be extremely difficult to meet his gaze.

He keeps his eyes down, worrying his lip as he slowly opens the door. He finds Dean’s steel tip worker boots, which means he left work early for this. For him. His overalls tied around his waist. Tank top smeared with oil. He squints when his eyes catch on the softness of his stomach, skittering higher to the impressive curve of his shoulders to finally settle on Dean’s face.

There’s a peculiar mix of emotions at play. A gentleness, for sure, because that’s Dean, even in the face of unmerited emotional turmoil, but also a steely challenge. Like he’s not leaving without answers.

It’s only been 24 hours, but they’ve been the longest of his life, because there was no contact. No call, no text, no nothing, which is highly exceptional for their doing, if not downright abnormal. It made what was already a right inner storm even more difficult to deal with, going over every moment where he should have said or done something differently – on repeat.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.” There’s a heartbeat’s worth of hesitation. “Can I come in?” Dean gestures, shoulders squared, but head ducked, which is all so uncharacteristic, it makes his fingers itch to touch him and make it better.

He grimaces at the odd question, throwing the door open fully. “Yes, of course. You’re always welcome here, Dean, you know that.”

A shaky hum is his reply as Dean steps inside, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his coat dutifully. Castiel closes the door and leads them to the living room, where his weighted blanket nest is surrounded by snack wrappers, books and the remote is a testament to how he’s been cocooning. Hell, he’s still in his pajamas and he made Bal mind the store on his own – which instantly triggers another bout of guilt.

He catches Dean’s worried expression at the sight and presses on, wanting the second most important part over with.

“I’m sorry for how I behaved. I should not have left that way.”

Dean’s gaze snaps up to his face at those words, his eyebrows conveying too much kindness. “That’s alright. I, uhh, I feel we skipped a few steps… in our last conversation.”

“That – sounds very plausible,” he admits with a curt nod.

God, having Dean at arm’s length all he wants to do is smooth things out between them. Why can’t he just give voice to his feelings?

“So… do you want to start or shall I?” Dean asks, glancing at him sideways as he rocks back on his heels. His hand comes up, wiping over his scruff in a nervous gesture.

Castiel sighs, bending over to clean up some of the mess he’s made.

“Cas, come on, man. Leave it… My place is ten times worse and now’s not the time to stress-clean. Let’s sit down.”

He acquiesces, sliding back into the half-moon space of his blanket, while Dean sits next to him. The sun is generous with her light and his chest constricts at the pure beauty of Dean in this get-up on his couch, looking at him, sun dappled eyes beseeching him with curiosity.

“I didn’t mean you were infuriating,” he blurts out.

Because that’s been bothering him, while replaying the conversation in his head.

“Oh?”

“No, I was… I am angry at myself.”

Dean lets out a displeased sound, reaching for him, but coming up short a few inches from his leg. Castiel chews his lips as he watches it happen and tears his eyes away from Dean’s hand to the books on the coffee table.

“I thought…”

A heartbeat or two of silence, as he mulls over how silly it sounds, how childish to admit to jealousy and whatever else courses through him, muddled still in this moment. It provokes Dean into scooting closer and Cas feels the warmth of his fingertips on his knee.

“What, Cas? Just say it. I get the feeling I’ve been missing things.”

“Join the club.”

Dean waits him out.

“I thought… When you suggested… this,” he gestures at the space between them, “It was… the closest I’d get to what I want?”

“What you want…”

He watches Dean’s face with morbid interest, expecting the realization to hit and Dean to leave. It takes a minute for the information to trickle through, like exceptionally thick syrup, thick being the operative word there, for both of them.

“Uhm,” Dean mumbles. “Cas…”

“Yes.”

“I…” His face ripples through a myriad of expressions, as Dean knits his brow, opens his mouth and closes it again, purses his lips – which is giving him other ideas – and eventually exhales roughly.

Castiel hurries on. “Look, I’m sorry. I know this timing is unfortunate, what with Lee, which is why I shouldn’t have behaved that way. I wish I could take it back but I can’t.”

“The situation with… Lee? What situation… Oh.”

“What oh?”

Dean’s eyes light up fondly, which is all too charming, yet seems entirely out of place. He scoots closer still, his tongue teasing the rim of his teeth, and cocks his head at Castiel, as he angles himself so he has an eyeful of wide shoulders and clavicle.

_What…?_

“Cas… I have a question.”

He swallows hard. “Uh-huh. Shoot.”

Licking his lips, Dean looks at him intently. He feels quite warm under that gaze. “No, really, like a weird question.”

“I said shoot, didn’t I?”

“Did you ever… figure out… or realize, I guess I should say, I was flirting with you the second we met?”

His mind blanks and his whole face goes slack so suddenly, he can feel it happen. He’s sure his heart is about to give out. Or maybe he’ll suffer a stroke. Because he can’t be hearing that right.

“You.. What?”

“Cas, honey… I was smitten the moment you spoke…”

_Honey?_

His heart leaps up into his throat, setting off a wild kaleidoscope of butterflies in all shapes and colors, he can almost see them at the edges of his vision.

“Dean, I only said hello.”

Dean waves impatient hands at him, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment in fond annoyance. “Figure of speech. Work with me here.”

“I… am trying.” He attempts to process what Dean said, but the words are such a profound admission he doesn’t know how. “You were _flirting_ with me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was putting moves on you, like you wouldn’t believe, Cas!” Dean stares at him in confused disbelief. “But it never seemed to take.”

“I… I thought you were being friendly.”

Dean lets out a heartfelt snort and he looks at Castiel with such tender frustration, he wonders if Dean will throttle him if he tries to explain himself better.

“Cas, you need to work on your definition of ‘friendly’, okay? I mean… Sam told me Gabe wanted to take out a restraining order on your behalf.”

“Really?”

“He was joking, obviously, but yeah… I wasn’t subtle.”

“But… Why?”

Dean groans, burying his face in his hands and raking his fingers through his hair, as he all but curls up. “God, this can’t be fucking real…” he mumbles into the undoubtedly very warm nook of his own embrace.

At a loss, Castiel grazes his fingers over his knuckles, finding new wounds there. “So… What? You just became my friend?”

Dean peeks up at him . “Uhh, duh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“This conversation is starting to feel like an out of body experience…”

When he doesn’t respond, Dean pats the back of his own head a few times, then rakes his fingers through his hair to the front, tugging at the ends in frustration. He rolls his shoulders back as he throws his arms open wide. “Because I like you! Why else?”

“But if you were flirting... You never stick around for your flings.”

Dean inhales sharply, wrinkling his nose. “Uhh, 1) you didn’t know that at the time and b) you aren’t… You never were. I just thought…”

Although he doesn’t always understand them, Castiel knows Dean’s tells, and the way he’s palming the back of his neck makes him reach out to him.

“Tell me, Dean… I know I can be off by miles, so you have to tell me…”

“I’m starting to think we both can be.”

“How so?”

“Cas, you never seemed to pick up on any of my cues, so yeah, after a few months of that, I figured you just weren’t into me and by that time, we were getting along so well, it kinda didn’t matter anymore?”

“But then why… suggest… this?”

Dean flusters and looks away again. Castiel chases the fleeting emotions that seem to flicker on the air like sparks flying, sitting closer, and dares to touch him. He’s surprised when somehow their fingers intertwine. He touches two fingers to Dean’s cheek to make him face him. Dean inches into the touch minutely.

“Dean. Please.”

Something in either his tone or expression must translate successfully, because his expression brightens and he leans closer, rubbing his hand over his mouth awkwardly. “I was joking, kinda. When I said we should become friends with benefits, I was just being whiny about my dating life and… I didn’t expect you to take it seriously.”

“So you just went with it, because I did?”

“I thought I was over those feelings. From back then. And since we are stupidly good friends –“

“The best,” he says, his heart feeling so vulnerable when he does.

“Best friends,” Dean smiles cutely, a fluster crawling up his neck. “I figured… Why not? I mean, my own feelings were my own issues and suddenly we were both in agreement it was a good idea.”

“But then why keep dating?”

“Uhh, Bumble isn’t exactly…”

“Hmm?” Castiel asks.

“It’s more of a friendship thing. Basically I’ve been talking people’s ear off about you, which is why… none of them worked out.” Dean goes into a full body blush, the warmth of which almost travels through the air, and Castiel forgets how to breathe. Self-conscious green eyes find his.

“So Lee…”

“Is just a friend, who’s been harassing me via text to make a move on you.”

“Pardon?”

“Like I said, I don’t shut up about you, so he quickly figured that out and then he started prying about you, which at first ticked me off, because what the hell, you’re…” Dean catches himself, but Castiel knows with instant clarity what he meant to say.

“Yours,” he says on a long exhale.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, the apple green eyes shimmering with a myriad of emotions he hasn’t seen in his best friend’s eyes – ever. “Yes, please.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, so overwhelmed his senses go into overdrive.

“Then he told me that you were clearly into me, that we’re basically behaving like a couple already and… I didn’t believe him and then you sounded like you were trying to ditch me.”

“I was trying to tell you how I felt!” he exclaims.

“I know. I realize that now.”

Castiel stares at him. Hard. Until Dean fidgets, shooting him that coy, little smile he adores. “Yeah, I’m an idiot…”

Scoffing softly, he squeezes his fingers around Dean’s. “I feel we both have been.”

“Sounds like it, doesn’t it?” Dean grins. “So what are we going to do about it?”

Oh…

Simple.

He softens his gaze, smiling as he bites down on his lower lip and relishes how Dean bodily responds to him.

Deceptively simple.

He tugs at Dean’s hand, pulling him closer and watches him catch on delightfully fast, as Castiel lets himself fall backwards.

Charmingly simple.

Dean drapes himself over him, letting his weight sink in delectably at his hips and abdomen, while his arms encase his head on either side. He breathes out long and slow, when Dean’s eyes fall to their entwined hands and they loosen up their fingers, palms pressed together.

One of Dean’s little things. His hand, reaching out across the distance regardless of his position.

It’s always held a special place in his heart, because it seemed to betray a genuine need to connect, especially since Dean always holds his gaze while doing so.

He understands now. It was exactly that.

Smiling, he slips his hand under the tank top, fingers catching on Dean’s warm skin, rucking it up in one smooth move. He squirms, rolling his hips to get more comfortable and feels Dean weigh down heavier.

Dean grins wickedly, sending a pleasant swirl of anticipation through him, though they’ve done this too many times to count.

Why is his heart beating so fast?

He’s seen Dean’s face up close so often and yet, today, his blood rushing so loud in his ears, he’s sure he’s temporarily deaf. A soft sound escapes him when Dean dips in and his muscles work on instinct, arching up off the couch as he bends and locks his legs around Dean’s waist, giving him more room.

“I kinda lied,” Dean says, voice thick with amusement and something Castiel can’t quite name.

He stretches his neck to meet Dean halfway, squinting and smiling at the same time, because he can’t stop doing that. Smiling. His brain must be leaking out of his ears. Everything is softer and brighter at the edges, like he’s cushioned by clouds, knowing it’s in fact Dean’s presence within this shifted reality of his.

“Cas?”

“Hmmm?” he hums, nosing at Dean’s cheek. “I’m listening. What sin merited that lie?”

Dean chuckles deeply, tilting his head so Castiel can pepper kisses to his neck.

“I said I don’t have a list in my head. That was a lie.”

He’s a bit slow on the uptake, which he puts down to inhaling Dean’s scent so deeply, it leaves his head spinning. He grazes parted lips along the taut tendon in Dean’s neck, easing his teeth in when he gets to his clavicle.

“Oh… for the app,” he mutters almost on accident, when it sinks in.

“Uh-uhhmmm, do that again, Cas,” Dean whispers.

He smiles against his skin, feeling it heat up under his touch, and obliges the request all too willingly, adding tongue as he goes. Dean’s hands find their way into his hair as he presses into him, so he wraps his arms around him, because he can.

All the time. Everywhere.

Oh… Blessed changed reality.

“I can do this any time now,” he mutters, sucking down on his neck. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“Fuckmmmh, yes,” Dean groans. “’m Trying to say a thing.”

“I’m listening,” he says on a breathy, amused exhale. “Say the thing.”

Dean laughs, as he hooks his arms around his waist and pulls. Castiel moves with him easily, hand at the back of Dean’s neck for leverage and allows himself to be manhandled. The strength of Dean always makes him go weak in the knees and he laughs with abandon at being lifted into Dean’s lap for mere moments, before Dean pushes him over and into the couch. He finds himself sitting with Dean straddling him. A whirlwind of movement that leaves him dizzy as he stares up at the glorious sight of a flushed Dean.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he mutters, hands sliding up Dean’s thighs and getting caught in the thick, bunched up fabric of his overalls.

“Soon,” Dean says, voice rougher, as he rolls his hips. He leans over and nips at his lips with every word. “That list… I do have one.”

Castiel squeezes down on his hip bones, but the overalls are working against him. Well, for and against him really. He forces himself to focus on Dean. On the word sounds Dean is producing, though he’d rather hear other sounds falling from those lips. “Yes?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles and if Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d call it a goofy smile? “Yeah, Cas, and every item on the list has to do with you.”

His cheeks warm with fondness as Dean leans in and places a closed-lipped kiss to his mouth. “Your voice when you read to me. Poems or novels. Hell, honey, you could read the phone book to me and I’d love every syllable.”

He huffs sweetly, breath warm on Dean’s skin, as he slides his hands over Dean’s back until he can dig his fingers into his hair. “Sort of like when I do this, because I could card through your hair all day, and you start making those – “

Dean’s eyes instantly fall shut and he moans, because Castiel’s going for his soft spots, and the hum turns into a gentle melody. “ – sounds,” he says on a smug smile.

“Mmh, no fair,” Dean mumbles. “Mmff, keep doin’ that.”

“Can do,” Castiel says, watching Dean’s face as he obliges.

Dean lets out another lovely sound and he slips his tongue between his lips, the space between them snapping and crackling with energy.

“Your… hands,” Dean mutters, breaking free of the kiss but pressing their foreheads together, breathing faster. “For obvious fucking reasons. And for every pie, book and poem you’ve handed me over the years. For every time you wrapped me in your trench and held me up, as I’m asleep on my feet.”

Castiel laughs, opening his eyes when Dean’s cool hands slip under his shirt, leaving tingly spots in their wake. Well, one of Dean’s band shirts, because he needed the comfort of it. He’s getting a lot more than comfort, he muses, when Dean’s hands explore his abdomen, dipping below the waistband of his slacks teasingly. He drops a meaningful look down between them.

Dean grabs hold of his shirt and rucks it up over his head, forcing him to let go. He plants one hand on Castiel’s chest, something darker swirling in his eyes and Castiel grabs his other hand, bringing the knuckles to his lips. He kisses each one, holding Dean’s gaze, before swiping his tongue over them.

“Cas,” Dean whispers. “I’d like more of this. Coming home to you. Knuckle kisses after I’m done working.”

The kiss Dean steals has a touch of desperation to it, like he’s scared Castiel’s going to run again. Castiel cups his face between his hands, rubbing soothing circles to his cheekbones. His breath invades Dean’s mouth in fast, hot puffs.

“I can’t explain how much sense you make to me, Cas, even when we’re being idiots,” Dean whispers. “It doesn’t matter where we are…”

Dean licks his lips, voice taking on an almost reverent timbre that rumbles up from his chest, so certain yet vulnerable. Castiel lowers his right hand, gripping tight at Dean’s shoulder. He drinks up every one of Dean’s words.

“I love seeing you in the light of my workshop, but the truth is: location doesn’t matter. Because it’s you, Cas, it’s always been you.”

Dean surges forward, capturing his lips in a deep kiss, the kind that’d have him sinking to his knees if he wasn’t already sitting down. He allows it to muffle his emotions, because they’re almost too much. Castiel adores language in all its forms, but Dean’s using more words now than he has in the past year and he can’t fully fathom the range of them, the depths of the emotions he just saw dancing in Dean’s eyes. The intensity of them clings to his skin, permeating down to his core, and then, blissfully, blending with his own.

Because they’re on par.

“Dean,” he moans, sliding his hands up Dean’s back and getting a firm hold of his trapezoids. “I… You’re making me lose my ability to speak. I want kisses behind my ear. Rides in Baby. Watch you fluff up my pillow. Read you every book in my shop. Wake up with the sun kissing your freckled skin. Ask me anything, it’s yours. Everything. I’m yours.”

Dean trembles in his arms, a glorious heat on his cheeks and he frowns, trying to hide behind soft bluster. “Losing your ability to speak, huh? Funny definition of that, Cas.”

One heartbeat to the next, they seem to lose patience. He tears the top over Dean’s head, laughing when that sets Dean’s hair on end and flings it, uncaring where it lands. Dean’s quick to lean in, fingers carding through his hair, his breath hot on his lips.

Castiel traces his spine in a long, slow descent, fingertips digging into the muscle around it. Dean arches into him, rutting against him, but the overalls prevent any decent contact. He’s mildly miffed at that, until his hands sink to the small of Dean’s back and he inches them lower into the overalls, finding Dean’s gone commando underneath.

Which he knows is a habit of Dean’s, but one he diligently tries to ignore most of the time. One needs to get work done.

Now… Not so much. A heated snarl is ripped from him as his hands find the bare, soft skin and he shoves them deeper to grab Dean’s ass, as he bites down on the tendon in his neck. “You are such a tease,” he growls.

A shiver wracks Dean’s frame and he arches his back, so Castiel can squeeze his ass cheeks better. He kneads them, pulling Dean down harder on him, pushing rough breaths out of him. “Come on, Cas… Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I just thought you genuinely liked going commando.”

“God, you’re amazingly adorable,” Dean laughs, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “A little bit of both, let’s say.”

He grips Dean by the hip bones, thumbs circling the sensitive spots just above them and it sets Dean off beautifully. Tilting his head up, lips parted, Castiel invites him in and it works. Dean ruts against him, capturing his mouth and oh, God, how can this feel like so much more than it already was?

They are lost to the world. 

Dean’s tongue slips into his mouth and he drinks him in, hands roaming with clever intent. Touching and teasing each of Dean’s soft spots, he relishes every sound and reaction he gets. Dean’s sitting bones are delightfully sensitive, causing him to laugh into their kiss in a half-hearted attempt to escape the tingles, before he surrenders on a heady breath. His head falls back, as he rolls his hips freely, grinding down on Castiel’s hardening dick.

The space between them heats up with every hungry caress, every panting breath, every deep kiss, and all the years between them that can now stretch into a perfectly sequenced infinity. He holds on until Dean’s a writhing mess in his lap and his own mind’s lighting up with nothing but arousal and pure bliss.

“Bed, Cas,” Dean mumbles. “I love your bed.”

He remembers the last time they were in bed together and a snicker escapes him before he can help it. Grabbing Dean’s face, he pulls him down for more kisses, because he doesn’t want to stop. Can’t stop, very likely, and he earns an echoing laugh for his efforts.

Dean nibbles his lower lip, green eyes sparkling. “What’s so funny?”

“Remind me how your head is?” he asks on an impish smile.

Dean laughs that beautiful belly laugh of his, where he throws his whole body into it. “Gladly. Bed though. Please.”

Castiel cocks his eyebrow at him, licking a slow trail over his lower lip that has Dean trembling. “Well, you know the way, don’t you, sweetheart?”

He smiles as he uses the nickname, as charmed by it as Dean’s shaky exhale suggests he is.

“Mmh, fuck, I can get used to this. Talk about a slow burn,” Dean teases.

He slips out of Castiel’s lap, but keeps them connected by entwining their fingers. Castiel follows smoothly. Dean’s overalls slide down, barely hanging on his hips and he licks his lips at the sight of the soft V cut that’s like an arrow. They move blindly, trustingly, having only eyes for each other in surroundings they both know by heart.

It’s gloriously easy.

Dean walks backwards to his bed, until his calves hit the wood. The one hand that was holding up his overalls lets go and they fall, bunched up around his ankles. He steps out of them, sliding them aside with his foot. A wanton sound escapes Castiel. In the soft light of the afternoon sun, Dean’s looking more vulnerable and beautiful than he’s ever seen him. Which must have something to do with how much of his own heart is out in the open. All of it.

There’s a map leading straight to it, making him feel as exposed as Dean’s miles of glorious, freckled skin under his gaze.

He closes the distance between them, fingers grazing Dean’s hip bones as he encircles his waist. Dean rests his forehead to his temple, so he gives his cheekbone a gentle nudge. His voice comes out on a low quiver.

“I… I’m sorry I didn’t catch on sooner, Dean.”

Those perfect lips form a smile against his jaw, softly nipping at him. “Enough of that, honey. We’re here now.”

Dean noses at his cheek sweetly and he returns the gesture, until their lips find each other. He sighs in relief, holding Dean close, as they move in unison onto the bed. Dean places a warm hand to his chest and urges him to lie down.

Castiel goes willingly, tracking the beauty of Dean moving above him.

“God, I love your weight on me,” he mumbles, digging his fingers into Dean’s hair.

Dean peppers kisses to his neck and chest, a blazing, wet trail of teeth and tongue that’s turning his bones to goo. He sinks into the mattress as Dean increases the pressure with every kiss. Dean’s voice is low enough to jolt a moan out of him.

“Good, cause you’re probably going to get star-fished on. A lot. But that’s for later… First,” Dean hums pleasantly, as his fingers dip below the waistband of his slacks. He breathes warm air into it, chuckling when Castiel’s ass comes off the mattress in search of more. “Work with me, honey.”

Oh, he cooperates.

His slacks are off him in record time. Dean wastes exactly no time, nudging his knees apart so he can settle between his legs. There’s that heaving moment when Dean leans over him and although he knows what’s coming next, he still trembles and twitches into the touch as soon as Dean’s hot breath hits the sensitive tendon in his groin.

A soft, wanton sound is ripped from him, when Dean circles the tip of his dick with his tongue, chuckling darkly at Cas’ response.

He groans and rolls his head back when Dean swallows him deep in one go. His voice peters out on the ‘fuck’ that’s drawn out of him and he clears his throat. “Ahnn, Dean… Do not make me come like this… I wanna…”

There’s a strange snorted, deep hum as if Dean’s entirely in agreement, even though Castiel never finishes his sentence and closes his eyes, bucking up into the hot cavity of Dean’s mouth. Language slips out of his grasp, as Dean takes him in deep, once, twice, and releases him in favor of jacking him off. He shifts his attention to the base of his dick, right above the balls, sucking a large warm, wet spot, almost like a light suction.

The focus is single-minded and Castiel sees stars, the spot tended by Dean’s tongue getting warmer and wetter with every passing, wild beat of his heart. Dean’s other hand joins in, fondling his balls and sliding down, teasing at his hole and a broken sound spills off his lips.

His hands shoot down to bury themselves into Dean’s hair on instinct, tugging in warning. “Dean!”

The intense sensation lets up, as Dean reappears from the hot, sinful pocket of warmth. “You sure?” he grins, licking his lips.

“Very.” Castiel huffs and uses the strength of his legs to shove Dean off balance into his arms. “God, you’re good at that.”

Dean laughs as he falls forward, catching himself on his arms. They both groan at the friction that brings with it, hips rolling together wantonly, searchingly. He allows himself to swoon at the visual. The beauty of Dean’s swollen lips, the wet glint on them and the heat on his cheeks, bringing out his freckles. His gorgeous eyes are bright and swirling with need. Castiel knows that look.

“On your side, Dean,” he urges.

Dean accommodates quickly and writhes into his touch, pulling at his hands, when Castiel slides behind him. He leans into the temptation of Dean’s freckled skin, licking the sweat off his spine, unsure if he wants to lick up or all the way down. He sucks harder, wanting to hear Dean, instantly rewarded with lovely sounds, as his intent sparks through Dean and translates in a language without words.

He rolls his hips into Castiel’s, digging his fingers into his ass cheek. “Cas, honey…”

The timbre of Dean’s voice, low and inviting, makes the decision for him, drawing him up, pressing against Dean’s warm back to kiss him over his shoulder. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

“Good,” Dean mumbles into the kiss, his tongue flicking out to invade Castiel’s mouth. “Give me some wiggle room.”

Castiel kisses and bites from the side of Dean’s neck to his shoulder, as he watches him handle the lube with deft fingers. Dean rubs his fingers together, warming it up, nudging his nose into Castiel’s hair. Castiel hums softly, while he continues worshipping every freckle he can reach.

His breath hitches and his hips surge forward when Dean’s hand closes around his dick, warm and tight. He sucks Dean’s earlobe into his mouth, breathing out warmly, which causes a delightful stutter in Dean’s ministrations. Squeezing one arm under Dean, Castiel brings both around his torso, sliding them over his stomach to his chest, teasing his nipples between his fingers. He bites down on Dean’s earlobe, relishing the whimpers and the way Dean ruts into him, while he jacks Castiel off until he’s slicked up.

Dean lets go of him, grabbing his ass and pulling him in. Castiel tweaks his nipples harder, slowly grazing his teeth alongside the column of Dean’s neck and sinking his teeth into the fat of his shoulder muscle. His dick slides between Dean’s thighs as they slot together and he thrusts, chasing the feeling of Dean squeezing his legs together tighter.

Warm, wet and tight, and so perfect. He and Dean can go either way and he loves the flexibility of them, the ease and beauty, and how well he knows the strong, exquisite body moving in sync with his.

“Faster, Cas, touch me…”

He yanks Dean back by the hip bones as he snaps his own forward, jolting a delighted moan out of him. Wrapping his arms around him, he all but immobilizes Dean, except for the space he needs so Dean can fuck down on his dick. He feels Dean’s arms slide over his own, traveling down until he can squeeze his fingers between his slick thighs, in search of the sensitive tip of Castiel’s cock.

When Dean grabs his own dick, Castiel bats his hand away, kissing the soft spot behind his ear and slamming his hips forward harder, muttering reassurances. He grumbles when he has to find the lube and coats his hand, Dean’s nails digging into his ass impatiently. As Dean cranes his neck, Castiel reaches over, sealing them together at the lips as he strokes Dean’s cock, once, slowly, drinking up the groan of utter desire and relief that pulls from him.

He presses his free hand to Dean’s chest, alternately teasing his nipples, as he finds a rhythm thrusting between Dean’s trembling, blessedly warm, slick thighs. With every thrust, he aims to push Dean’s dick into the slick circle of his hand. Dean sucks on his tongue and Castiel moans when he feels the betraying tremble coursing through them.

“Cas, Cas, yes, yesyesyes, oh, honey, fuck, yes, Cas,” Dean exclaims.

He arches up on his elbow as he comes, head thrown back, his moans extending beautifully, his semen coating Castiel’s hand. The rest of it is lost, because of the blood rushing in his own ears, when Castiel’s orgasm washes over him, his mind alight like he’s chasing the stars down from the skies. They make a blessed mess, Castiel’s semen mingling with Dean’s in his hand and on the sheets. He twists his hand in the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut, as he shakes through the last waves of pleasure.

Whe he opens them again, he finds Dean’s heaving back, the sound of quick breaths making it through the intense haze. A lot intenser than any they’ve shared before, Castiel thinks, though that might be him. Dean glances over his shoulder. They aren’t all focused as he smiles, breathing heavily, and lets himself fall backwards into Castiel's chest. Castiel catches him on instinct, bracketing him safely in his arms. “Mmmh, Cas, I wanna… Can we?”

There’s a million possibilities in that simple question.

“Anything you want,” he says, quirking an eyebrow, because they just did, so he’s not sure where Dean’s mind is at.

“Forever,” Dean whispers.

It seems to take him by surprise as much as it does Castiel. He smiles, because what else can he do at hearing so much emotion in one word, from Dean, his Dean, of all people? He laughs, sliding his hands up Dean’s flanks just the right side of ticklish that it makes him squirm and turn around so they’re facing each other. Warm hands cover his own.

Castiel trails them higher to his neck and holds Dean’s face between his hands, Dean’s fingers loosely curled around his wrists. “Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lee's such a sweetheart. And Dean and Cas are just... well... something. We've come to the end for these two loving idiots! They can trot off and be happily domestic together. I'm glad I managed to finish this for the Trope Collection.
> 
> Thank you for tagging along for the ride. I appreciate every kudo and comment. Leave them some last love, if you enjoyed yourself! I know I did.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr and feel free to reblog the shit out of my work. 
> 
> Much love and hugs to you, and until the next story!  
> Mal

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fifth in a series, which I haven't officially made into a series (because clutter tags). You can find all of them, if you follow the 'snowglobe story' tag. Links below if you feel like exploring <3
> 
> [Heavenly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247922): friends with benefits dumb, but sweet boys.  
> [Thiples](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755060): festival setting with martial arts Cas and dancer Dean. Subtle genderfluid.  
> [Dance Real Close](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014339): spies AU, winter ball, blatant flirting and first kiss/time.  
> [You're My Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061300): roommates/friends to lovers, genderfluid Cas, first kiss.


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